Interlude with a Drunk
by Solita
Summary: Ice cream and alcohol doesn't mix. [Sandman. Indy fic. Slash undertones.]


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Sandman, or any other people used in this story. This is pure fiction and use for entertainment purposes.

I hate ice cream. I really do.

It's a rush of coldness, a splash of reality fresh in your mouth, the sides of your brain numbing all over, pain surging throughout, killing you, breaking you, but you're addicted to it, like a drug, a fucking drug that you can't stop having and you keep on eating it bite after bite, watching as you do so, the spoon scooping up a gigantic mouthful and you snap it in, your very tongue betraying your psychosis, twirling and sucking around it, melting instantly in your mind, but the coldness kills you and it keeps on killing you until your mind freezes over and that pain compels your eyes to shut tightly and you wonder somewhere in the back of your head when the hell that pounding will cease and that ringing phone in your ears will be answered cause goddamit it's getting annoying as hell.

I hate ice cream. But I'm such a hypocrite, too.

Here I am, sitting in my hotel room, lying back on the bed, watching Conan late at night, and I'm stuffing my face with the biggest pile of ice cream known I've ever seen. It's got this addictive scent and taste that I can't help but succumb to, making me desire more and more as each sweet, vicious scoop fills my mouth like the taste of come. Hell, even as I lie here and look at the damn thing held in my hands, I think it looks a little like come.

Fuck, I think I'm more drunk than I realized. Alcohol plus ice cream equals insanity. An equation that defines the century or some other poetic shit like that. Whatever.

I think it's cookies and cream, or jamoca almond fudge. Or is it french vanilla? Fuck if I know. It smells great, looks like come, and it's just damn well good. Good enough for me.

I know that I've got work in the morning, but screw it. I'm just gonna stay up, eat my ice cream, probably add a few more beers to my procrastination schedule. I hope they show something good, like Clerks or whatever that movie was Raven was raving about.

Ahahaha. Look. I made a pun. Or something.

Speaking of that little fucker, I think I should call him up and annoy him. I'm bored off my ass. I should just go ahead and start rambling -- I'm pretty much drunk enough to ramble until the cows come home -- until that little cocksucker goes ahead and screams for me to shut the fuck up. Heh, knowing him, he'll take the phone off the hook.

No matter, there's always his cell. And then there's stuffing his e-mail inbox full of Viagra spam. Ah, I'm too fucking tired to get on the computer, anyways. Later, maybe. I'm not sure.

Hmm... this ice cream is REALLY starting to taste like come. Fuck, I'm horny. Maybe I should go visit Raven and fuck him senseless. Or go into someone else's room and fuck whoever it is senseless. As long as it isn't anything ugly... screw it, I'm drunk enough to even consider Russo gorgeous enough to fuck.

... Eh.

Yeah, I'm practically insane, or horny, or a sexual ice cream-crazed lunatic that's watching Conan and can't find a wink of sleepiness in his system.

Boy, did that alcohol give me a buzz.

Maybe I should count sheep. Wait, that never works. Okay, count beer bottles.

One beer bottle. Two bee-- fuck, that doesn't work either. Oh! Canes! One cane, two canes, three candy canes on the wall and that just reminded me of the time where I was at my mom's house for Christmas and we stuck candy canes on the wall.

... okay. That's weird. I just remembered about my mom... fuck, I know why! It's mother's day! Shit, I forgot to send her something. Ah well. She'll get a belated present later. Too drunk to get off my ass and call her. It's probably way too late anyways.

This ice cream is starting to smell like come now.

I either need sex or sleep or a dream where I am having sex. Or I need to watch a porno. Or I need to watch a porno and THEN masturbate. Or just masturbate. Or something.

God fucking dammit to Hell, where the fuck is the Sandman when you need him! Oh wait... That's... Nevermind. I blame the beer.

Y'know, the beer kinda reminded me of come.

That's it.

I gently place the ice cream on the side of the bed and turn off the TV. Fuck getting underneath the covers, I need to sleep or I'll just drive myself insane. Oh wait, I did.

Goodnight, Jimmy, good f'ing night.


End file.
